Royal Bloodline

Aden POV

The stench of stale beer and dried sweat clung to the bleachers of the Jork University Arena. I crushed another empty aluminum can and tossed it into my trash bag. Fifty bucks. That was what a day of cleaning up after the Black Moon Pack’s young Warriors got me.

Tomorrow was my eighteenth birthday—the day I prayed the Moon Goddess would finally grant me my *Inner Wolf*. But right now, I was just a "wolfless" Omega. I had no scent, no strength, and no respect. I was the bottom of the food chain. Still, I swallowed my pride and picked up another sticky cup. I needed the money. Sylvia’s birthday was coming up, and I wanted to buy her that silver necklace she’d been eyeing. She was the only one in this brutal world who didn't look at me like I was a disease.

The heavy double doors of the locker room banged open, shattering my thoughts.

Brennon Collins strutted out, flanked by his gang of Warriors. The air instantly thickened with their aggressive, musky pheromones—the scent of pure, unadulterated Alpha-complex arrogance.

"Hey, Omega!" Brennon barked.

Before I could turn, a foul-smelling, sweat-soaked sock hit me square in the face. The Warriors erupted into mocking laughter.

"Smell that?" Brennon sneered, dumping a massive pile of filthy, week-old gym clothes at my feet. "That’s what a real wolf smells like. Wash these, wolfless waste."

I clenched my jaw, my fingernails digging into my palms. Deep within my chest, a strange, dark heat flared—a violent, heavy pulse that felt entirely too big for my scrawny body. I forced it down, taking a slow breath. *For Sylvia,* I reminded myself.

"Fifty bucks," I muttered, staring at the floor.

Brennon scoffed. He pulled a crumpled fifty-dollar bill and a five from his pocket, letting them flutter onto the dirty floor right next to my worn-out sneakers. "There’s a package at the front gate for Dixon. Bring it to the Warriors' Changing Room. Consider the five a tip for being such a good little scentless puppy."

They shoved past me, their laughter echoing in the empty arena. I knelt, my knees touching the sticky floor, and picked up the cash.

Ten minutes later, with Dixon Cooper’s package tucked under my arm, I stood outside the Warriors' Changing Room. It was a semi-sacred space for the Pack's fighters, a place an Omega like me was strictly forbidden to enter. The air seeping from beneath the heavy oak door was thick with the scent of leather and male musk.